


Check-Up

by lolobean



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Fingerfucking, Fluff, Humor, Oral Sex, Other, Slash, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:17:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolobean/pseuds/lolobean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An SOS call comes in...from Wheeljack. Ratchet helps get him back on his feet. Well, sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Check-Up

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! So this is my first Transformers fic as well as my first sticky sex fic. Hopefully I did it right and hopefully it's enjoyable. Ratchet/Wheeljack isn't even my absolute favorite pairing, but somehow they were the first for me to write about.
> 
> Enjoy!

Only Wheeljack could draw so little response from the medical mech when issuing a distress signal.

“What is it, Wheeljack? Where in the world did you crash this time?” Ratchet inquired, rolling his eyes even though the other Autobot could not see. Somehow it made him feel better, and that was enough.

“Just get my coordinates and open a groundbridge,” the gruff voice responded over the comm link, and Ratchet couldn't help but frown. He actually sounded bad for once, and despite their complicated relationship, he was a trifle concerned.

Without another moment's hesitation, he opened the groundbridge and looked on as Wheeljack limped into the base. Letting out a frustrated growl, Ratchet strode toward the other bot and braced his hands against his chest when he looked as though he was about to fall straight on his face.

“You should stop crying wolf, you know” Ratchet sighed, pulling a strong arm over his shoulders so that he could guide the other bot into a private medspace. He didn't _look_ injured, but that didn't mean much with how complex a bot's innards were. He could have crashed and received heavy internal damage. “I wouldn't have given you such a hard time.”

“Ambushed,” Wheeljack croaked simply as he was brought into the room, glancing around as he discretely locked the medbay door behind him once it was shut tight. Ratchet didn't seem to notice; the bot was more concerned with his colleague's well-being. “Brought Jackhammer down. I'll have to get back to her soon to get her all fixed up, but...” he trailed off, emitting a labored vent, offering a meltingly sincere glance to the medic as he seated himself upon a berth with Ratchet's assistance.

Ratchet only briefly thought it was strange that Wheeljack would think of himself before his precious airship, but the idea was fleeting as he used the device in his arm to take the wrecker's vitals.

That same idea returned when he felt a servo firmly placed on his chassis, blunt fingers sliding south and over his grille.

The medic glanced from the vitals to the other bot's face...and frowned. Beaming from Wheeljack's mug was a smug grin as the rogue dug his fingers gently into a transformation seam, making Ratchet shudder.

“I should have known!” he barked, grabbing his hand and jerking it away. “Wheeljack, you scared the daylights out of me! You _rarely_ contact me for help of any kind, and when you sounded so hurt over the comm link...” he huffed, staring at the wrecker, “...I was genuinely concerned! How dare you use the emergency line for something as trivial as,” he gestured broadly as if to refer to their whole being there. “Well...this! If all you wanted was to interface--”

“You would have said 'no',” Wheeljack piped up.

“You are correct,” Ratchet growled, his engine thrumming sourly as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Aww, Doc,” he laughed, leaning forward to grab Ratchet's hips, pulling him closer. “I missed you, and I think that the only way you would have let me in is if I played a little trick on you. That's all,” he crooned, chuckling deeply as he attempted to reach back for his aft.

Ratchet lifted a servo and shoved him down onto the berth, effectively causing Wheeljack to lose his grip and stare up at the medic, only slightly startled. “You should know by now that I'm not the joking sort, Wheeljack. I also would have let you in the base even if you weren't in danger. You're an Autobot and a trusted ally of Optimus'. And another thing,” he pointed an accusing finger. “You know very well not to call me Doc. I have a name, you know.”

“Oh, right, Sunshine,” he smirked, loving the way Ratchet rolled his eyes and growled deep in his chassis. “Look, I just wanted to see if the doctor was in so that I could get a little check-up.”

“A check-up,” Ratchet groaned, tilting his head back to glance at the ceiling in exasperation before dropping his helm down once more to stare incredulously at the Autobot on the berth. “Wheeljack, just because we interfaced once upon a blue moon doesn't mean you can start tricking me into doing it again.”

“It wasn't just once,” Wheeljack corrected, propping himself up on his elbows and tilting his head at the medic. “There were many times, and you loved each and every one. Don't lie to yourself, Doc,” he grinned. “Most times were on Cybertron, but I guess it was so long ago that an old bot like you couldn't remember.”

Ratchet saw red and he propped a knee up on the berth between Wheeljack's legs, and he loomed over the larger mech, their size difference a miniscule piece of data compared to the leer the medic was delivering to the mercenary. “I remember you ramming into me until I couldn't walk the following day, and I remember you depriving me of overload on multiple accounts, whether you meant to or not,” he whispered, resting a servo next to Wheeljack's shoulder to support his frame.

“But I also recall,” Ratchet whispered, bringing his helm closer to the other's, “being the best at making you overload. But did you ever deserve it? No,” he shook his head, glancing down to scan the other bot's body. “Things change. Bots change, you know,” he muttered idly, trying not to get too caught up in that firm, substantial wrecker's frame.

“You're getting warm, Sunshine,” Wheeljack quipped with a smirk, emitting a laugh when those cyan backlit opticals snapped back up to stare into his in a poisonous glare. “Why don't you and I just make a truce, for a little while, and trade places so I can frag you.”

To be honest, Ratchet considered it. It wasn't exactly true that Wheeljack was an awful or even an uncaring lover. Quite the opposite, in fact. Every time he and the rogue bot interfaced it resulted in such a mind-blowing overload, how _could_ he forget? But Primus damn that smug little smile that crossed his lipplates every time Ratchet lost his cool, even just a little. He couldn't give in on principle.

Or could he?

“I have a better idea, 'Jack,” he grunted, getting his other knee up on the berth and effectively trapping the other frame beneath him. Keeping himself steady with one hand firmly planted, Ratchet grabbed wandering servos—one had found its way to his hip and the other to the sensitive cables on his neck—and pinned them up above the wrecker's head.

Wheeljack couldn't find any leverage to move his arms in order to retaliate, and Ratchet observed with wonderful triumph how that self-satisfied smirk was replaced with a look of almost eager confusion.

“I'm going to give you a taste of your own medicine,” Ratchet provided, staring down at the other Autobot with a look that could only be described as deadly. However, the facade was completely broken when the softest of smirks lit up the medic's face, and Wheeljack laughed in turn, glad that the mood had lightened at least a little.

The laughter didn't last long when Wheeljack felt a servo making its way over his chassis, deft digits finding seams and dents and scars from battles past. Instead of bright chuckling, a static moan escaped his mouth, his helm resting back against the berth.

It wasn't often that Ratchet took initiative, but it came at a poor time. The wrecker wanted Ratchet on his back, yelling his name as he was slammed into...not the other way around. Wheeljack was full of adrenaline from a close call prior to his arrival at the Autobot base, and in that light he hadn't been joking. Jackhammer had nearly been brought down and Wheeljack had nearly been hurt...as such, he needed control over one thing so that the day could be made right in his mind.

“Okay, Doc, lemme up,” he grunted, tilting his head to the side with a smile, loving the way the medic's mouth and glossa felt against the strong cables supporting his neck.

“No,” Ratchet grunted simply, dropping his hips low to grind them against the wrecker's pelvic plating, eliciting a strangled moan from the mech beneath him.

“What?” Wheeljack shuddered, his eyes widening at the realization that Ratchet was in it to win it. “No, Ratchet, let me up. Please,” he whispered, gazing on when opticals met his.

“Why should I?” the medic inquired. “You wanted a check-up,” he continued, lifting himself up so that their faces were level once more, Autobot blues daring the other pair, “and I am here to give you one. Let the _Doc_ do his work and just relax.”

Wheeljack sputtered lamely, trying to think of a valid excuse as to why he didn't exactly want to be on bottom, and all reasons left when a mouth pressed to his own, glossa immediately invading, causing him to groan again. His body arched against the restraint of Ratchet's solid servo, and the lifting of his chassis was greeted by a warm, curious hand, dancing over the Autobot symbol on his front.

“Are you going to be a good patient?” Ratchet whispered into an audial once he broke the kiss, oral fluid giving Wheeljack's scarred lips a glossy sheen as his jaw hung open.

“Yes, Doc,” he smirked, meeting a good-humored glare with another one of his grins. “What? You referred to yourself as Doc just a second a...oooh...”

The wrecker was effectively cut off by a strong, white-painted thigh rubbing up against the gray of his pelvic plating, another deliciously satisfied smile taking Ratchet's features and making them nothing short of heavenly. The medic stared down at his colleague and lover as he continued the motions, the ease of his thigh's movement supplemented by the lubricants leaking from Wheeljack's panel.

“Won't you let me move my hands, though?” the rogue Autobot cut in, lifting his helm up from its prone position, hoping to get a better look at the action down below. He tugged at the grip on his wrists just a little and apparently Ratchet was too involved in his teasing motions that Wheeljack managed to get a servo half-escaped--

“ _Ehp ehp ehp,_ no you don't!” he grunted, re-situating his grip so that it was tighter, hoping somewhere in his spark that Wheeljack was just slightly uncomfortable. “You'll be able to touch me when I'm finished with your exam,” he provided with a soft kiss, using his mouth to drift downward over the thick cables of his neck.

“However, I will have to let go of you in order to proceed. You need to keep your hands up there, understand?” he commanded, jerking a finger up at the other bot and offering him a stern look that was only partially there. Admittedly, his frame was getting a little too hot, and his fans kicked up a notch. Hopefully Wheeljack didn't hear the increase in speed.

“Got'cha, Doc,” he said, and even kept his hands there once Ratchet removed his grip. Wheeljack smiled sweetly down at the bot between his legs, chuckling richly. “What, you thought I wouldn't stay put?”

“I most assuredly did not, 'Jack. Your reputation precedes you,” Ratchet chuckled. Even that soft laugh was music to the wrecker's audials. The only thing that could compete with the noise was where Ratchet's intake was heading, glossa lapping at a sturdy abdomen, doctor's hands finding hotspots and triggering them, causing the bot beneath to squirm just a little.

Ratchet drank up every single movement and noise like energon, heating him up and making him a bit more confident as he went on. He pressed his face into the junction where hip met pelvis, denta seeking out a larger, sensitive cable and giving it a quick little bite. He soothed the pain with a tender lap, and then pursed his lips about the area, offering the location a gentle suck.

“Primus,” he heard above him, and the medic chuckled just so, glancing up at the wrecker briefly before continuing his work. Ratchet made sure not to give him too much attention just yet; after all, he was getting a taste of his own medicine. But it was so hard to tease the other bot when he was not only being so damn _sexy,_ but he was being so good, too.

“Open up,” Ratchet commanded, dropping a servo beneath his codpiece to rub at the hot plating with his thumb, pleased when the orifice beneath was exposed with a quick and efficient click. He pressed his thumb inside, grinning with glee as Wheeljack arched up.

“More! Primus, Ratchet,” he grunted, his valve slicking up fast as the shortest digit went all the way in to the knuckle. He was tight as a sealed bot, by the allspark, and Ratchet knew it would take time to get him stretched out enough to relatively painlessly accept a spike.

The medic hoped that Wheeljack could be patient enough.

“Your spike,” Ratchet offered, and without hesitation the pelvic plating folded back with a series of clicks, exposing his already painfully pressurized length. The sight of it made the medic bot's breath hitch in his vents, and if he could he would be blushing. Ratchet could never get used to it, mostly because of the Autobot the phallus belonged to.

Replacing his thumb with his index finger, Ratchet made sure to hit every sensory node on the upper portion of his valve as he inserted the digit, and again pressed it in to the knuckle just as he had done with his thumb. The sound the other bot made was delicious, and probably illegal on other planets, perhaps even the one they were stranded on. The medic's own spike was uncomfortably pressed against his own plating, but he couldn't let his discomfort show.

Exventing sharply to get a handle on his arousal, Ratchet turned his servo at the wrist to carefully swivel the embedded digit as he leaned forward and dared to swipe his tongue over the underside of his lover's spike. Nodes lit up under the touch and caused the length to all but throb with energy, delighting in the soft, sharp keen he heard above.

“Don't be a hero,” Ratchet teased up at his colleague. “Make as much noise as you like. No need to be surly about it.”

“Shut up,” Wheeljack snapped, too caught up in frustrated arousal, not quite able to appreciate the teasing coming from between his legs.

“You can dish it out, but you can't take it? Well, alright, make as little noise as you see fit. But,” he paused in his vocalization to swipe his tongue over his spike again. “The intensity of my attentions will be in direct proportion to how much noise you make, 'Jack. Keep that in mind.”

“You slagging--” the wrecker started, only to be quieted by a hot, wet mouth enclosing over the flared head of his spike. A static whine creaked out of his vocalizer, negating every single insult he'd queued.

Ratchet always forgot how damn wide he was, and it was an effort in itself to get his mouth around the head. He could work with it, but it wouldn't be easy. Thrusting his digit in and out of the rogue Autobot, he suckled gently around the head, keeping his jaw slack so that he could take in a little bit more at a time.

The attentions were greeted by progressively louder noises from up the berth, and Ratchet was getting a little smug, himself. Wheeljack was learning. Humming around the spike to send a vibration down all the nodes he could come in contact with, the wrecker barked out a moan, mumbling Ratchet's name.

The medic rewarded him with a firmer suck, accepting more of his length into his intake, glossa paving the way and making it a bit easier for his lipplates to accept the girth of his lover's phallus. Damn, he was big! It was amazing how his own valve could take such abuse over and over again from the monster between his jaws.

“Ratchet, please!!” Wheeljack cried. He was already warm from the previous teasing and combined with the sure touches causing him to heat further, his neural net was alight with warnings of overheat and pleasure synapses alike. “Ratchet! For the sake of Primus, please. I need more!” He was already so close to overload and the medic was doing nothing to help.

Ratchet took his mouth off his spike with a 'pop', lapping up a bit of premature transfluid from his lipplates before regarding Wheeljack with an almost sympathetic gaze. “Poor, poor 'Jackie,” he chuckled richly, his engine thrumming. “It's amazing that your hands are still up there. Have you forgotten about them?”

Actually, he sort of had forgotten about his servos and their being attached to his body. But he wasn't about to start paying special attention to them with everything that was happening down below.

“You can use them now, if you want. You're passing this check-up with flying colors,” the medic offered as a second digit rubbed against the rim of his valve, a noticeable twitch running up Wheeljack's body. He was given a moment to calculate what exactly was about to happen next before Ratchet carefully scissored that finger inside, stretching him open and activating more of those shocking nodes. Pleasure ran through Wheeljack's entire body, expressed in a loud cry of pleasure.

Finally he moved his hands from above his head, one resting on his middle while the other caressed Ratchet's helm, affectionately teasing over an audial. The lovely stretch of the fingers inside him caused a series of guttural noises, some of them crackling up as his vocalizer shorted out multiple times. There was a series of clicks as it reset only for it to fry up again when Ratchet ducked his head between his legs to smooth his glossa over the stretched valve surrounding his fingers.

“Ratchet!!” Wheeljack shortly yelled, his legs spreading wide, pedes resting their heels against the edge of the berth. “Slagging good!” he rumbled, his engine roaring as his fans cranked up. “I'm so close, love...”

A third finger joined the pair inside that deliciously tight orifice, the slight burn changing Wheeljack's tone momentarily. He hissed and almost clenched his thighs shut, his vents gulping in the cooler air around them as he tried to pull himself together.

“Are you alright?” the medic asked, his voice registering a bit closer. The wrecker didn't realize that his opticals had offlined, and when they flicked back on, Ratchet was moving up his body once more, and he almost looked...concerned.

“Yeah, Doc,” Wheeljack smiled, winking at the orange and white Autobot. “Just, you know, I don't take it in the valve as often as you do...”

“We should change that,” Ratchet offered, continuing to scissor and gently move all three digits inside the wrecker, and once he came up close enough he planted a firm kiss on his lover's mouth.

Glossa battled for dominance, quieting Wheeljack's moans and muffling Ratchet's own sounds of appreciation, and large servos reached up to loosely wrap about the medic's shoulders. They tugged him a little closer to the larger body beneath, and the fingers embedded deep in Wheeljack's body were removed with a disgustingly wonderful shlurping sound, lubricant drizzling from the opening.

The gloss-covered servo pressed against the rogue bot's thick waist, gently petting a transformation seam there. The kiss finally broke and Ratchet stared down at his lover, appreciating the weathered bot.

“What about you, Sunshine?” he grunted, glancing down between Ratchet's legs. He let a servo wander, tucking up between broad thighs and cupping his crotch, eliciting a soft moan from the medic.

“I was just getting to that, you impatient whelp,” Ratchet chuckled, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away...and up to his mouth, licking a stripe of oral fluid over that broad palm. Wheeljack laughed and moaned at once, a sound that caused Optimus' second in command to warm all over, a smile never leaving his face. Giving the palm a few more licks, he guided it back down between his legs where his own codpiece clicked away to reveal his almost over-engorged spike, and Wheeljack took the hint by wrapping his digits about the length. A few gentle pumps later and Ratchet was trembling, his forehelm pressed to the other's broad chest.

“Primus,” he grunted, rolling his hips less than gracefully into his hand. He suddenly felt his own overload upon him and he jerked up, sucking in a shaky vent and grabbing the wrecker's hand, pulling it away.

“Ratchet,” Wheeljack all but purred, moving the hand that was on the medic's spike to his hip, drawing him closer between his legs. “Frag me.”

That simple statement caused a violent shudder to rattle Ratchet's plating, and he realized too late that the tables had turned. Wheeljack was in control. But his spike was painfully hard and he wanted so badly to be thrusting into that wet heat.

As such, he complied, inching up a little closer and guiding thick, armored legs to encircle his waist. Smoothing his servos over his thighs, he smiled down at the other Autobot, who stared up at him with intense longing, his lips parted as he steadily vented, attempting to keep himself calm.

“You're sure you're ready?” the medic asked, sitting back on his knees and gently prodding his length against his valve, watching as Wheeljack's frame rocked closer, pelvis gyrating.

“Yes, Ratchet,” he grunted, planting his hips firmly on Ratchet's hips, tugging him just a little closer. “Just get in me and we can get this party started.”

“I didn't know we were at a party,” Ratchet commented, smirking as he moved a hand down between his legs to guide his spike into his lover. He was met with slick, tight resistance, and he gave a hiss when his head slipped past the outer ring. Making a point to go slow, Ratchet leaned down over the other bot, pressing soft kisses to his face, helm, and neck, making an attempt to distract him if necessary.

Wheeljack let out a soft, pitiful moan of pained pleasure as that length slid inside of him, not at all used to the sensation. His own spike rested between them and, nearly making a comment about how it was being neglected, Ratchet moved a servo to encircle his digits about the shaft, firmly stroking it as he slid home. Pelvic plating ground together as Ratchet allowed his colleague to adjust, exventing against his chest.

Inside that valve it was suffocatingly tight and Ratchet continued to encourage the other Autobot to relax, denta nipping at helm plates, drawing surer, deeper moans from the wrecker.

“Move,” Wheeljack muttered, both servos palming Ratchet's aft and drawing him even closer, his thighs widening to grant him clearance. They groaned in unison, one of their vocalizers shorting out and switching to binary chirps. Ratchet would never admit to it...then again, neither of them would.

Encouraged by the warm grip on his aft, Ratchet rolled his hips languidly, lifting his torso up once more so that he could stare down at the entire length of the wrecker's frame, his optics dimmed with lust. Both of their bodies were almost to the melting point, heat rippling from the metal as their fans feebly attempted to keep them cool. There was only one thing that could cool them down at that point, and that was sweet, sweet completion.

The rolling of pelvis turned into gentle thrusts, and to get a better angle, Ratchet tucked his arms beneath Wheeljack's thighs, hooking his elbows at his knees, effectively allowing himself better access to the wrecker's valve. Somehow his spike sank home deeper, and deeper still, until both of them were praising the other on the job well done.

“Ratchet,” he purred, keeping his servos on his rump. He was making no move to force him into his thrusts. Instead he kept them there just to touch him, to feel that rocking motion as the medic thrusted in and out of him. He could get off on that alone, Primus...

“Wheeljack,” Ratchet replied, shooting an open-mouthed grin down at him before bowing his head, watching his phallus disappear into that body below. “By the allspark, Wheeljack, you are..mm! In prime condition!”

“Thanks, Doc,” he choked out before his ceiling node was hit by a particularly hard thrust, barking out a moan that turned into a throaty yell, and Ratchet made a point to hit that sweet spot with every other thrust.

Increasing his odds once more of a nice, deep sheath, the medic brought the other bot's legs up onto his shoulders and leaned over him, bracing his servos once more on the birth as he pummeled into him, his hips rocking relentlessly into harder, more reckless thrusts. He could feel warmth pooling in his tank as he brought himself closer and closer to an overload, and his body warned him of exactly how hot he was.

It was going to be hell to recover after this romp, but it would be so worth it.

“Ratchet! Ratchet--” Wheeljack gasped, his mouth drawn tight to expose denta in a grimace of pleasure, that lovely little spot deep inside him hit on every onslaught of pelvic plating, and his hands fell down to the berth, trying to grab anything at all. Instead he switched his angle and grabbed the medic's aft again, and _now_ he was yanking him into each movement, his vents gulping in air.

Wheeljack overloaded with a spasm, his body curling in on itself as transfluid spurted from the tip of his spike, a deep roar rumbling from his chassis and out his mouth. His vocalizer quit on him again but he made no attempt to reboot it. It would only stop again. His valve clenched hard around the invading spike, resulting in a strangled groan from the bot above him.

“Ratchet, overload inside me,” he pleaded, finally resting back and riding the waves of pleasure, his hips rotating lazily into the frantic thrusts.

It only took a few more gyrations before the medic let the other bot's legs slide down over his shoulders and into his elbows again, his helm tilted back as he came deep inside the wrecker, his spike pulsing as electrodes shot off and transfluid overflowed, dribbling down onto the berth beneath them. The sound he made was almost deafening, a desperate cry of completion as overload hit him like a train, and he rode the waves until his optics shorted out.

“Wh...Wheeljack,” he mumbled, letting go of his legs. He may have been completely spent but he had enough in him to lean up and deliver a ferocious kiss to his lover, and the wrecker pressed his servos to either side of his helm, keeping him in the kiss for as long as their systems would allow.

The liplock broke with sharp inhalations by both parties, and the rogue Autobot laughed. “Primus, Doc! I didn't know you had it in you,” he mumbled, pressing his forehelm to the other's.

“Neither did I,” the medic offered lamely, smiling, lost in a post-interface daze. The systems that had shorted out were finally booting up, and when his optics came back, Ratchet found that the smirk on the face beneath his own didn't make him mad at all. Quite the contrary—it filled him with love and warmth for the other Autobot, and he couldn't help but kiss him again.

Slowly slipping out of the wrecker, Ratchet groaned, kissing the other again when he heard a hiss of discomfort. “I barely touched your spike,” the medic mentioned, lazily smearing droplets of transfluid that had found their way to Wheeljack's upper chassis. “I suppose you should take it in the valve more often if it yields these results.”

“Is that your prescription, Doc?” the wrecker grunted as the other bot rested atop him, their systems finally cooling. Strong arms wrapped around the older bot's waist and gave him a squeeze.

“It sure is, 'Jack,” he laughed against his shoulder, lifting himself up just a little to gaze down at the other. “It is. You're to report to my chambers later for another dose.”

 

 


End file.
